Breadcrumb

The dog days of August.

Pfff! The best laid plans, eh? I feel so fatigued lately. Not tired, fatigued, a sort of tiredness that has sunk into my bones that I just can’t shake off. And I’m doing less and less as the weeks go by. Retirement? Fuck that, I’m like 20 years away from that ‘relief’ and I suspect if I were to ‘retire’ I wouldn’t be long for this world. “Did you hear about ‘Clodi’? Yeah, dude retired and two weeks later suffered a massive coronary and died.” That would be my retirement. Work 40 years, die after a two-week vacation.

I have managed to get out and write a bit and, amazingly, get out and exercise a bit more. I have this high blood pressure issue and if I don’t go out and walk/jog a few miles I feel it. I feel it bad. Mostly it’s just one long headache that makes everything I do agonizing. I should probably go to the doctor and get on meds, but…once you get on meds you die on meds. I suppose I am trying to avoid starting.

I never understood people with disabled kids. I mean, I know it’s hard, you have a kid that has problems and like, what do you do? Leave them out for the coyotes? Not in this day and age, that’s called negligence or just plain old murder. Now I find myself with a child with disabilities in my family, a granddaughter and I’ve screamed into the void about it, some things I am just not ever going to understand, and I accept that. She isn’t the sort of disabled kid you bring to charities to get people to donate to prevent this or that disease or genetic defect, no she’s the real deal, probably will require care for her entire life and probably will die young. Yet, she is a human being and I have love for her and I can’t explain why. I can make her smile, I can talk to her, I tell her stories and unless I am mistaken she acknowledges when I come into the room and seems genuinely pleased to see me, not sure why as I am always rushing off to do…something and spend but a few minutes tickling her or talking to her. Her condition is such that she spends about 98% of her time on her back staring up at the ceiling, her mobility is limited, and I can’t help but pity her and the life she has ahead of her. I feel bad and there is nothing I can do. Nothing. I think feeling helpless about a situation is just about the worst feeling a person can have. Watching as someone is killed in front of you, seeing some hurt themselves and I’m too far away to prevent it. Car accidents that go in slow motion…yeah, there are no super heroes, if there were they would have revealed themselves stopping something no one else could.

Fantasy and escapism are what we have left to help us cope with the things we cannot change. I read, I play computer games, I play role playing games where my players get to ‘win’ occasionally and be heroes they will never be in real life, I play in such games for the same reason. I will never save a village from the deprecations of a dragon. I won’t be the spy who prevent the super flu from infecting the planet, but I can pretend to be and that is marginally better than never tasting a crumb of such heroics.

I need to write more often. I really do. It helps, it’s cathartic.

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